Friday, April 2, 2010
Saturday, March 13, 2010
thrift
where all lost, unwanted, ill-fitting or out-of-fashion things go. someone, someday, will pull my love for you out from under a pile of "Virginia is for Lovers" t-shirts and have found a treasure and a great bargain.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
short report
I'm going to Rome on Tuesday. I'll see beautiful things there. Maybe even be one of them.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
relationships
When I was younger I fancied these hiking boots. They were suede and laced up from the toe. I found a pair on discount and bought them - despite the fact that I was broke and they were the wrong size. Sometimes I just want something, usefulness be damned. I was the proud owner of a pair of hiking boots that never took me anywhere, least of all a hike. Now I ask my self, however little I paid, was it worth it?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
if you take me
for god's sake take everything. use everything. fill each corner of your room with my ornament. wrap my skin around you like a blanket. fill your stomach with my muscle. my fat. until there's nothing left to taste. until I'm empty and there's nothing left to waste. nothing to spill. I want to be part of life, damn you, not just another reckless driver's road kill.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I was a huntress.
I was an arrow. I was a deer on the floor wailing. My cries shook the walls. They cracked the ceiling. They ricocheted off buildings. All our neighbors beer in hand coughing up their addictions began weeping. The sound echoed through the streets. Through the scent of potatoes roasting in butter and laundry steaming sweetly in the dryer, the dark musky odor of marijuana and nag champa burning together, as in a chorus. I was a huntress. I was a deer. Next time you shoot, shoot to kill. Gut and eat me. Don't just leave me on the floor of your apartment bleeding.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
little assholes
The holidays made me reflect on how easily influenced we are by the messages we receive from others - coming and going. I found my self wishing I could resist making cracks at Rush Limbaugh, was more enthusiastic about pictures of eagles and hadn't rejected my mother's invitation to submerge my hands in sugar. I love my parents. It continues to strike me how they too can be child-like. Children are sensitive, vulnerable, innocent, completely self-absorbed little assholes who deserve without reserve, my unconditional love.
Monday, January 18, 2010
caterpillars
we spin a tender wrapping around one another. a golden
chrysalis. all hearts eventually break against.
chrysalis. all hearts eventually break against.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
impotence
snake charmers are said to hypnotize with
song burmese pythons, carpet vipers, egyptian
cobras or some other beast captured
when I found you that's how it was hungry
and wild, writhing in your pot, your beautiful
freckled mouth already sewn shut
cobras or some other beast captured
when I found you that's how it was hungry
and wild, writhing in your pot, your beautiful
freckled mouth already sewn shut
Friday, January 8, 2010
winter mussels
in the winter mussels build up on the boardwalk. fisherman pluck them off to use for bait. I love watching their adept fingers work. crabs scuttling in and out. the ecosystem under the pier opening and closing, forced to release its tiny treasures one by one.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Monday, December 21, 2009
mole baby
how frustrating I must be. I must have always been. such high expectations. so uncompromising. I never seem to see people the way they want to be seen.
I feel sorry for my parents. they didn't ask for this. blind baby. this mole baby, digging relentlessly.
people are often soft where they should be hard and hard where they should be soft. I just want to be like the cookies we baked today. it's what I've always wanted.
shortbread and molasses. three batches, one after the other. I watched my mother roll dough in the palm of her hand. the years, all the history held in
didn't matter. they came out fine. better than fine. you could say they were just right. and everyone enjoyed them.
didn't matter. they came out fine. better than fine. you could say they were just right. and everyone enjoyed them.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
men are dogs
People are boring.
Men especially.
You think you can
Make me happy?
Go ahead.
Grow a tail and
Wag it for me.
And don't worry,
I'm used to picking
Up your shit.
You think I'm angry?
Fine then, go lie in it.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
wildlife
My little pelican friend had trouble steadying himself in the wind. His left foot kept slipping until he finally had enough and leapt off. It was gorgeous. His wingspan was larger than I imagined it would be. He flew in a circle around the pier and came to perch on the rail opposite me - only to be greeted by an even larger group of cell phone photographers. Oh, well.
not everything is willful
I can see into my bathroom. My contact case and solution are where I left them. My toothpaste and toothbrush too. I forgot to turn the light off. From here my bathroom looks friendly. It looks as loyal as a golden retriever. Today I'm thankful for these. I'm relieved.
charades
If I hadn't seen it my self I wouldn't believe it. And if I tried to tell you my words would be lost. They would be empty. They might not even sound. A silent film. As bad as charades. Or my best impression of a mime. The one where he's trapped in a box and can't get out.
There are no shortcuts here. And it's an uphill climb. But maybe the distance is made bearable if you're holding the hand of someone you love. Everyone else just wonders what the fuck is a mountain or are smart enough to have gone around it in the first place.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
coffee house musings
A man standing in line across from me has a leaf stuck to his butt. Should I tell him? Hell no. Cause then he'll think I was LOOKING.
And would someone please explain to me why coffee house proprietors are so head-over-heels in love with huge abstract paintings of faceless, nude females of mangled proportions? I think they're hideous.
I was in Equator Books today. I have a growing affection for one of their employees - he might actually be the owner, I don't know. Flannel-clad and unapologetically surly he paced the floor, smoked and paced some more. My belief is that this individual's pet peeve is people sitting around writing in the cafe section of his bookstore (which I was attempting, of course). How could they introduce/advertise awesome coffee and cafe-style seating and not expect people to want to come in and work. I also fail to understand why someone who supposedly loves books would have such tangible disdain for writers. I wasn't comfortable staying long lest his policing gaze fix upon me. It was like that eye in Lord of the Rings. I actually caved and bought a book as if to say, "look asshole not all writers sit around, taking up space, without buying anything." I'm sure that showed him.
I was in Equator Books today. I have a growing affection for one of their employees - he might actually be the owner, I don't know. Flannel-clad and unapologetically surly he paced the floor, smoked and paced some more. My belief is that this individual's pet peeve is people sitting around writing in the cafe section of his bookstore (which I was attempting, of course). How could they introduce/advertise awesome coffee and cafe-style seating and not expect people to want to come in and work. I also fail to understand why someone who supposedly loves books would have such tangible disdain for writers. I wasn't comfortable staying long lest his policing gaze fix upon me. It was like that eye in Lord of the Rings. I actually caved and bought a book as if to say, "look asshole not all writers sit around, taking up space, without buying anything." I'm sure that showed him.
Friday, December 4, 2009
vignettes
I
A woman sits at a wobbly table in an urban cafe. The top of it is covered with post cards from foreign countries. She's waiting for someone. A man on a bicycle rides past wearing a woman's straw hat. It has a large plastic daisy on it which makes her think of Sundays in East Atlanta; black ladies climbing out of shiny Cadillacs on their way to church, everything matching - purple with purple, pink with pink, heels, belts, purses.
She is joined by a quiet companion. Will he remark on his bloody mary, her mimosa? Keys are exchanged. The scene ends simply. Everything left unsaid passes between them in silence, spilling out from their eyes. No one notices. A man at the table beside theirs continues to work on his crossword. Sips his coffee. It's only a moment. She pays the bill, gets up and walks out. There is no bell on the door to mark her exit.
A woman sits at a wobbly table in an urban cafe. The top of it is covered with post cards from foreign countries. She's waiting for someone. A man on a bicycle rides past wearing a woman's straw hat. It has a large plastic daisy on it which makes her think of Sundays in East Atlanta; black ladies climbing out of shiny Cadillacs on their way to church, everything matching - purple with purple, pink with pink, heels, belts, purses.
She is joined by a quiet companion. Will he remark on his bloody mary, her mimosa? Keys are exchanged. The scene ends simply. Everything left unsaid passes between them in silence, spilling out from their eyes. No one notices. A man at the table beside theirs continues to work on his crossword. Sips his coffee. It's only a moment. She pays the bill, gets up and walks out. There is no bell on the door to mark her exit.
II
Years earlier the same woman, a girl then with shorter hair, undresses hesitantly in an all-but-bare room. There's a mattress on the floor and a man on it in fetal position, wailing. She doesn't know why. Somewhere in her child-head she imagines her sacrifice can relieve his pain. She exists in a world of raw potential - vague notions and possibilities, magic and love. She still believes she can change things; she just doesn't know how.
Labels:
memories,
on gender and sexism,
on heartbreak,
on relationships,
poems
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
the sun
is coming up
everything
washed in
blue in
quiet
who
could have
suspected
in their beds
this much
light?
everything
washed in
blue in
quiet
who
could have
suspected
in their beds
this much
light?
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
thanksgiving
my life should be lived. as though it were a meal prepared for those I hold dearest. and so it is. only right that I keep laboring in this hot kitchen. but no bitterness. not for you, darling. for you I offer only sweetness. and salty love. the salt of love. love without weakness.
(for P.S.)
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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